Day 112 – Llansteffan to Talacharn/Laugharne 9 June 2019

Day 112 – Llansteffan to Talacharn/Laugharne 9 June 2019

I am so glad to have met James and Anita. Apart from them being extremely interesting and nice people, we were able to circumvent the difficulties of Sunday public transport in Wales. There is a ferry from Glan-y-fferri (who’d have thought?) to Llansteffan, so we decided to begin walking there, and left one car at Talcharn/Laugharne, underneath the imposing Anglo-Norman castle. The countryside is littered with these twelfth-century strongholds, built by the Marcher lords who had licence from William the Conqueror to take as much land from the Welsh as they could and hold it on terms much less onerous than the land they held from him in England. Talacharn castle is more-or-less opposite Cydweli, where we had tea yesterday. The pair of fortresses guard the entrance to the Tywi estuary.

Llansteffan is a lovely little village. We arrived about 9am and set off towards the shore. We agreed to walk separately, as I am slower, and it is very tiring to walk at someone else’s pace. Just as we left the village, we could hear the church bells ringing and see yet another castle.

Church at Llansteffan

The sky was blue, the view over the estuary was amazing, across Cefn Sidan, all the way back to Llanmadoc, and the Worm’s Head beyond. The path starts by running through woodland – my favourite kind of walking – woodland overlooking the sea.

Woodland near Llansteffan

After a couple of miles, the track turns inland, up yet another estuary – this time the Tâf. The walk was largely uneventful – more road walking than is entirely pleasant, my knees do not respond well to tarmac. The poles seem to help, though. By and large, the signposting is good. Carmarthen, like Newport, has the tops of the fingerposts in bright yellow, which helps. I admired a flock of domestic ducks in one field (although Anita told me later they were geese). Surrounded by buttercups they had the air of an advertisement for wholesome food.

Passing that farmhouse, the signage was not brilliant. One gets the impression that some of the landowners are not that happy to have the Coastal Path traversing their fields – poor signs, unoiled gates, bullocks in the field etc, often give the impression that walkers are not welcome. I cannot help thinking that they get the money, so should be a little more accommodating. Of course, many farms are well-arranged for walkers.

Ducks or geese, on a farm near Tâf estuary.

Having looked at the map, it seemed to me that a short-cut was possible – rather than following the official path for about a mile, another public footpath served as one side of a triangle. Sadly, short cuts always mean long delays. The field, although a public footpath, was wall-to-wall bovines. Not just a few, but scores.  All far too interested in me. I trekked to the side of them, and entered another field – I could see the path about 200 yards away, but there was no way out of the field without going through the cattle. I turned back and took the official route. It went through another cattle field, but they were tucked into one corner, and rather more docile. I crossed a couple more fields, lots of grass, presumably for sileage, and sat down to eat my lunch. I discovered later that James and Anita had stopped in exactly the same spot!  Several fields later, the path decanted onto a minor road. As I turned left, I could hear ferocious barking.

Dogs, unlike cattle, do not bother me, but the two that came trotting out of a farm yard, onto the public highway were ugly customers. One was a labrador, normally a docile breed, and the other a collie. They were not docile at all. They barked and snarled and circled me. The worst thing is to show fear, so I breathed slowly and began talking to them,  in both English and Welsh, although I kept my poles in front of me. The lab looked as though she might have pupped recently, so perhaps she was feeling protective.  I struggled to pass them.  Then they began to calm down as I kept talking as soothingly as I could. The lab came close and wagged her tail, but I was not going to fall for that and try to pat her.  I hit on the idea of throwing the apple I had been eating, in the hope they would bound off, but only one fell for it – I was now trapped with one in front and one behind. Not such a good plan. They then bounced ahead and to my left. I hurried past and arrived at a farm gate. Clearly, I had missed the path. A young girl pointed in the right direction (the opening the dogs had shot down). I thanked her, and observed that the dogs were rather fierce to be allowed out on the road, but she obviously could not care less.  The brutes had raced off by now, but I was glad to nip down the path and clang the kissing gate firmly behind me. More open fields took me into St Clears. There was a lot of interesting information about the industrial past of the estuary – it is almost impossible to imagine these quiet, rural areas as once having been hives of industry.

The path runs alongside the main road, but a lot of effort has been made to keep the track safely behind the hedge. It then diverts through more fields, used for trail bikes, it seems, and then some of the loveliest fields of the day. I suppose they are ‘set-aside’ land, as they were brimming with wildflowers – buttercups, grasses, yellow-rattle, flag-Iris, red and white clover, all a-buzz with insects, including bright blue damsel fly-type things, bees, butterflies (although not so many of them as you might expect). Butterfly in Welsh is pili-pala – one of my favourite words.

Set aside farmland, near St Clears, full of flowers and grasses.

Passing through several fields, you could tell which had been set-aside longer, and which were perhaps in the first season. There was another strip of woodland, overlooking the estuary, then down a lovely green-lane, before entering the well-kempt wood just north-east of Talacharn, which is, of course, famous for Dylan Thomas having lived there. I know it is sacrilege, but he is not one of my favourite authors, so I did not detour to see his writing shed.

Carmarthen Bay, near Talacharn.

I arrived back under the castle at about 4.30.  Most of the tea-shops were no longer serving. Query, why would you turn away custom on a sunny Sunday in June?  The season is not that long, surely you want to make as much as you can?  One was open, offering an interesting fusion – Asian street-food and tea and cake. Excellent lemon drizzle. Knees a bit grumpy after so much road walking.

Cat has returned, having ignored me last night. Unusually for me, I have a massive blister, just where my right instep meets my heel – my sock must have got a fold in it.  Shan’t be bursting it though. Hopefully, it will subside overnight.

Total distance 14.2 miles, and gorgeous weather.  Another Silver day – perfection marred by the quantity of road walking.

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Day 111 Penbre/Burry Port to Glan-y-Fferri 8 June 2019

Day 111 Penbre/Burry Port to Glan-y-Fferri 8 June 2019

The rain last night was so bad that I let Cat in. I was firm with him: 1. He had to go out when it stopped raining, 2. He had to go out when I went to bed, regardless of the weather. 3. I would not feed him. 4. He definitely was not allowed into the main bed-sitting room, but had to stay in the conservatory.

Those of you who have experience of cats will not be surprised to hear that I was woken at 3.42am by Cat uncurling himself from the small of my back, jumping off the bed and demanding to go out, having dined on the cooked chicken I bought for my packed lunches.  How do cats do it? From pleading to be allowed to take shelter from the storm, to the complete run of my accommodation in a few hours!

Today was definitely one of those days when I have to pinch myself to believe I am not dreaming – everything was just right – even getting lost a couple of times was no hardship.  I drove to Glan-y Fferri, intending to catch the 9.10 train. I allowed plenty of time to get there, as the narrow lanes can be confusing – in fact I went down one so narrow that a pedestrian and her dog could hardly pass me – it got steeper and steeper and narrower and narrower, and I was lucky nothing came in the opposite direction. I was early, so I sat in the car for a few minutes, then cursed myself as, if I had hurried, I could have caught the 8.24. However, the forty minute wait was a blessing in disguise, as two more walkers turned up. They were doing the same stretch as me today, and, after a bit of chat, we realised we are staying at the same place. We did not walk together – it is very tiring to pace yourself to someone else, and I could tell they would be faster than me.

I joined the path more-or-less where I left it yesterday, going round the dock at Penbre. The dock was created by local entrepreneurs, George Bowser and Thomas Gaunt in the 1810s for shipping coal from Gwscwm and Cwm Capel. It was formed by diverting water from the Derwydd to scour a deep tidal harbour, with sluices for clearing the silt.  The original owners failed, but the site continued to be viable until the early twentieth century by which time it had silted up too much to allow big vessels access.

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Penbre Dock

Quite a few boats were bobbing in the little dock, as I turned west, inland of the sand dunes. Like yesterday, much of the path was tarmac aimed at cyclists.

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Some sort of cycling challenge in progress in Pembrey Country Park.

It runs into a country park, with lots of tracks and trails, and even, rather bizarrely, a dry ski slope. I stopped on a hill to admire the view and eat some muffin. After a couple of miles, it decants onto Cefn Sidan, a Blue Flag beach which is absolutely superb – almost flat with sands graduating from gold to white, living up to their Welsh name of ‘silk’, and lots of low breakers after yesterday’s rain. It was a little marred by the quantity of jelly-fish, but the views across to the Gower on one side, and the headland at Pendine on the other were wonderful.

I was amused by a sign warning against the hazards of too much sun.  I think I will start a new page, with best sign of the day.

The rain had rolled away overnight, and the sky was mostly blue with broken cloud. The wind was quite fierce though. I could see my train companions far away and kept an eye on them, as the path turns back from the beach, into Penbre woods. I did not see the path, and was wondering where it might be when I saw that James and Anita had turned back. They told me they had walked a good way further on, and that we must have passed the track. We turned back and took the first path off the beach, but that was a dead-end.  We went back a bit further, and left the beach at a clear track, which took us into the wood. We consulted the maps and the GPS, and agreed that about a mile in the same direction would take us to the edge of the wood.  I decided to eat my sandwiches, whilst they walked on.

Ten minutes later, I started out, but before long I got lost in the hopeless maze of tracks that weave in and out of the wood, mainly designed for cycling. There was neither jot nor tittle of a sign, after the earlier section had been so clearly marked. After I while I was sure I was going in the wrong direction, so I whipped out my compass (when I say whipped, I mean I unpacked my entire rucksack to find it at the bottom). I was going south rather than north, so I turned around and took a different track, slightly reassured when some passing cyclists told me I was going in the right direction for Cydweli, but they did not mention it was a circular track.  At least a mile and half further on, I finally came to T-Juncion with a sign. Coast Path – going in both directions. As I was consulting the map, a couple of locals came up and put me on the right path.  She warned me about a field of cows. ‘Friendly or grumpy’, I asked, gripping my poles in business-like fashion.

‘Oh, quite tame.’

Nevertheless, I prepared my mind. In the far distance, I caught site of James and Anita again – clearly they had been lost, too.  The track turns across the old airfield, which is huge, and literally riddled with bovines. Naturally, some were on the path. I decided that holding my poles in front of me would make me look bigger.  I walked amongst them but, fortunately, although there was a bit of snorting, none of them moved.  The track then carried on to Cydweli – hard underfoot again. It was 3.30 by now, and I was keen for a stop. I found a very nice little tea-shop, where my friends had already imbibed, and ate a couple of Welsh cakes.  There next section was straightforward, a bit of road walking then up a track to Llansaint, through the little village, with superb views opening up of the estuary, then through more fields and down into a lovely, narrow little wooded glen.

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Glade near Llansaint, Carmarthenshire.

I was glad of my new boots – after yesterday, everything was slippery.  A steep climb up the other side, then though more fields, mostly well-marked, although I did go the long way round one of them, before coming into another glade.

I could hear some cows bellowing, and was glad when the path turned away from the field gate, although all it did was go ten yards down the hill, then enter the field just below where the cows were congregating. They were noisy, and not friendly. The mud was appalling, real boot sucking stuff, so even if I had wanted to run, I would not have been able to. I was glad  of my poles, that kept me upright when I might have fallen. Fortunately, the beasts were more sound than action. I went through the kissing-gate and followed the sign, which seemed to lead across a very steep and muddy field. The path was so muddy it was hard to walk, but to go off the path was impossible as the slope was enough to turn your ankle. I slogged along for about a half a mile, getting muddier all the way, till the path ended in a barred gate. I had obviously missed the route. Unable to face returning, I shimmied under the barbed wire onto the lane. The path then meanders through the back of Glan-y-fferri, back to the car park.

Just as I arrived back, the other couple did and we had a chat to Mrs B & B. Cat emerged, and I had to ignore him as she once again insisted that he was not to be encouraged. I felt like a guilty spouse, pretending not to know my lover.

Distance 15.3 miles and a Silver day.

Day 109 – Cheriton to Gowerton 25 July 2018

Day 109 – Cheriton to Gowerton 25 July 2018

We had a great celebratory meal last night, at an Italian restaurant in Mumbles, and I confess I was a little heavy-headed this morning. We hoped that today might be the lucky day for finding an 11 o’clock coffee stop, but alas, no joy.

We left one car near the station at Gowerton, then came back to the pub we finished at yesterday, and turned off down the lane where, had the sea wall at Cwm Ivy still been intact, we would have emerged from the salt-flats. To begin with the walk meandered around the flats again, but then entered farmland and some pleasant wooded areas.

However, it was not long before the path joins the road at Crofty.  We arrived there around 10.15, but neither pub was open.  The door of one was actually open, and a lady was laying tables, but she did not feel able to serve us coffee – nothing could be done before twelve.

Somewhat disgruntled, we marched on. Before long we saw a hiker coming towards us and stopped to talk. She is doing the Wales Coastal Path, but in the opposite direction. We talked about the optimum number of days to do on a trip. I said that in some ways, I’d like to do a really long chunk of two or three months, but that in fact, the longest stretch I have done was two weeks, by which time I was thoroughly fed up.  Her advice was that, once you push through the two-week mark, walking becomes your life, and you sink into it completely.  Not sure – one to think about if I have an extended period of free time – not likely in the immediate future.

The road was quiet to begin with, but became busier.  In parts, you can walk to the side on the old railway track, now a cycle-path, which used to serve a branch line from Gowerton to Penclawdd, initially installed to move coal from the mines in the Morlais valley. It is hard to believe there were once mines in the Gower – the Welsh Development Agency has done a fantastic job of removing all signs of this once pervasive industry.  Before the railway, there was a canal, which brought coal from inland to the dock, for transport to sea-going vessels.  There is the merest ghost now of the dock to be seen at low-tide.

Some effort has been made to make the route pretty with wildflowers, and it was good to see across the estuary, but after yesterday’s gorgeousness, today was bound to be a bit tame. Nevertheless, the weather was pleasant, and having my brother-in-law for company made it a silver day.

12 miles.

Day 107 – Caswell Bay to Port Eynon

Day 107 – Caswell Bay to Port Eynon

What a difference from yesterday in the weather!  When we started out, it was grey and mizzling and continued overcast until well on into the afternoon. We drovIMG_4131e down into Gower, and left one car at Port Eynon, before coming back to Caswell Bay.  We dropped down on to Pwll du beach – being very critical of the rather ugly 1960s block of flats that over shadows it. Walking to the end of the beach, it was not clear where the path went – either over a heap of rocks at the end or else up onto the road in front of the block.

Whilst we were deliberating, we saw a couple of brave swimmers – it was still wet and quite chilly, and we were thinking that swimming was the last thing we fancied – suddenly, the man called out – Nick! Astonishingly, the couple had been my sister and brother-in-law’s neighbours in Surrey back in the early 2000s. Talk about a coincidence.  Just proves you cannot go anywhere without running into someone you know.

We chatted for a moment, and asked about any cafes in the vicinity – coffee was feeling like a good plan. Unfortunately, the nearest was an hour away at West Cliff.  We arrived at the excellent café in pouring rain, so spent a good 45 minutes having a delicious Welsh rarebit and coffee. It was still drizzling as we emerged but we were slightly comforted with the thought that the latest weather forecast was for sun in the afternoon.

Back on the path, we went round the headland, and found ourselves overlooking Three Cliffs Bay. The path then deviates into Pennard Burrows – as one might guess from the name, this is a series of sand-dunes – not brilliant for walking in, and easy to lose the path,  but, with the general lay of the land, not possible to get lost, even though you have to go slightly inland, towards a ruined church, as there is only one place to cross the little stream – a series of stepping stones. There were quite a few people about by this time, with dogs and children as the rain had stopped.

Over the stream, and up onto a low headland, than down through woodland with dunes under foot, onto Oxwich Bay.  We met a boy of around 12, who was holidaying with his IMG_4189family, who was eager to tell us about the giant blue jelly-fish he had found. It was the largest one he had ever seen – it was even the largest one his dad had ever seen!  And when we came onto Oxwich beach, we could agree that the jelly-fish are monsters!

We stopped for a drink at the hotel at the end of the bay, then went through the woods at the west end of Oxwich – there is a little church hidden in the woods, dedicated to St Illtyd. Legend has it that the first Christian church was built here in the sixth century – the current building is ancient enough – 13th & 14th century.  Unfortunately, it was locked.IMG_4206

There was a steep pull up to the top of the cliff, but the sun was beginning to shine quite brightly and the views were excellent as we did the last few miles along the beach edge before arriving at Port Eynon. There were lots of ponies wandering about – presumably they wander on the common land like Esmmoor ponies. IMG_4233

We found a pub, and had a welcome gin and tonic. The pub was crowded, and lots of people were eating. However, the presence of a (used) nappy in its sack on the table next to us argued in favour of a home-cooked meal.  A silver day, with 13 miles covered.

Day 103 St Donat’s to Ogmore 15 April 2018

Day 103 St Donat’s to Ogmore 15 April 2018

Sunday having fairly limited public transport options, Jane and I had to be at Ogmore to catch the single bus that would take us back to St Donat’s. With my usual need to be everywhere early, we had a good half hour to wait at a place where no bus stop is actually signposted, but where a local farmer assured us it did stop – usually.

After about 15 minutes, a car stopped and we were given a lift a few miles into Ogmore-by-Sea where there was at least an official bus-stop and a lady standing by it looking expectant. Local knowledge proved correct, and the bus did turn up, carrying us through the tiny lanes to the point where I finished yesterday by 12pm. The forecast was not good, and it rained off and on, although not heavily, most of the day. TherIMG_3197e was the odd burst of sunshine over the sea, which sparkled silver. The path dropped down to the sea, and up again to the cliffs from time to time.

The mud was knee-deep, and it didn’t take long for me to slip – sitting down hard in a bramble patch. The rest of the day, I trailed mud everywhere.IMG_3202

After about an hour, we passed the lighthouse at Nash Point, and shortly after came to the Nash Point carpark café where I had an excellent bacon roll, and Jane had Victoria sandwich – highly recommended spot!

By and large, the walk was flat, with one or two steep drops down – the greasy ground made it hard going downhill, and my knee is now giving gyp. I hope it will be better tomorrow – if it is not, I shan’t walk.

For the first time more-or-less, since crossing the Severn, the Devon shore was occasionally visible – I could pick out the notch which is Porlock and I think at one point, I could spot Minehead. The coast is beautiful – very steep, vertical cliffs, with visible horizontal sediment structure in the land.  This ability to see the history of the coast’s development make it a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), known as the Monknash Coast. It is quite unstable, and in many places the land has clearly sheered away suddenly – fence posts hanging over the sea.IMG_3218

One of the prettiest parts of the path was the wooded valley on the approach to Dunraven Castle – sessile oaks, with an understory of bluebells – only a few were in bloom, but it will be a delight in a couple of weeks. There was sweet woodruff and ramsons, too, that Jane picked. IMG_3235We passed the foundations of Dunraven Castle, built in the 12th century on an old iron-age fort. It was raining quite hard at that point, which continued for about twenty minutes as we came to Aberogwr and turned up the river-valley. The views from the houses which overlook the estuary must be fabulous, when the sun shines.

As we walked up the river valley back to Ogmore, the sun came out, even though it was still raining, and we saw a lovely rainbow. An average supper (although the service was very pleasant) in a pub and then a drive back to Bristol in absolutely torrential rain. Jane pointed out that it would stop as soon as we crossed the bridge into England, and, aggravatingly, she was right.

Another silver day, with 9.5 miles covered.

Day 102 – Barry to St Donat’s 14 April 2018

Day 102 – Barry to St Donat’s 14 April 2018

Last night was rather disturbed – the fire alarm for the whole block went off at 2.17am. I grabbed my coat, my slippers, my phone and my keys, as well as the keys to the flat (Jane had stayed somewhere else last night) and spent a few minutes standing in the street, looking like an extra from a bad soap opera – furry slippers, waterproof and nightie: all I needed was curlers. This exciting incident meant I woke late, but it did not matter too much, as there was little traffic this morning, driving back to Barry.

The downside was the thick fog – visibility was not much more than 100 yards.  I drove over the spit to Barry Island, figuring I could ignore the half-mile from the bus-stop I finished near yesterday. Unfortunately, the layout of the roads has changed considerably from my map, with the construction of vast new housing developments. With that and the fog, (not forgetting the poor sign-posting) I got completely disoriented. Eventually, I sorted myself out, and came to the top of the island, a place called Nell’s Point. Of course, it is not really an island, just a promontory, joined with a thin spit of land.

It was still very foggy – but as I walked down the west side, it became possible to distinguish between the sea and the sky, although only because of the wave movement.  Barry beach is beautiful – so far as I could tell – long, wide, flat golden sands. It was somewhat disfigured by the noisy slot machine arcade blaring bad music place at the end – but, of course, everyone has different tastes. I was happy with the Cadawaldrs next door, where I was able to buy an excellent coffee. As I returned towards the spit, I saw that the tide was way out, so was able to walk across the harbour, rather than going back to the bridge – it was a bit of a scramble down, and the sand was heavy, but it made up the time I had lost.

I walked around The Knap, another promontory, then climbed up onto the cliffs. Behind me, I could hear two women chatting. Eventually, I entered a wood, and waited so that I could ask them to take a photo. We got chatting – they are walking the Welsh Coast Path, but, like me, not all at once. One has a son with realistic ambitions to play rugby for Wales (Yay!!) and the other has a daughter who is a contestant in the Miss Wales contest. We walked together for a good half hour, and it was lovely to make new friends.

Gradually, the cloud cleared and the sun came out, although it was not till the very end of the day that the Devon shore was vaguely visible.

The path runs along the coast, occasionally climbing up and down, with a couple of places where I had to clamber over cobbled beach.  passed the southern-most tip of Wales at Rhoose Point, and saw some interesting geological features.

The path passes a very large and ugly power station, where I was concerned that I was on the wrong side of the fence as the path was several inches deep in water at one point.

I hopped over the fence, but soon had to climb back as there were private property signs liberally scattered.

The path went inland for a bit, over fields, before dropping down to another cobble beach below Llanilltud Fawr. The evening sun was shining by now and the sea looked rather inviting.

I realised that if I moved swiftly, I would catch the 17.12 bus at St Donat’s – I hurried too much, and saw the 16.12 bus chugging away, and had to wait nearly an hour. St Donat’s is the location of the Atlantic College – it is a delightful little hamlet. Meeting new people has turned this day into Silver.

Day 94 Shurton to Bridgwater 28 Oct 2017

Day 94 Shurton to Bridgwater 28 Oct 2017

It was getting light as I left this morning. With no decent breakfast to be had at the place I was staying, I had arranged a slightly earlierIMG_2577 meeting with my friend Vicki and her dog, Bracken, at Combwich, to make up for it at lunch. To get back onto the coast, I had to go cross country. It was deeply uninspiring. Quite a long stretch was thought the fields of one of those farmers who clearly don’t want walkers on their land, but won’t actually break the law by closing paths: signs obscured with carefully untrimmed brambles; broken stiles and gates are tied shut with binder twine with tight knots. This resulted in a few tedious backtracks as I got stranded on the wrong side of the dykes that separate the fields.

IMG_2575The weather was very different from yesterday. A cold wind, and overcast. I reached the path around 8.45 and followed it along tracks and ridges to Steart point. The last 1.5 miles out to the point is very dull indeed. The high rushes on both sides made it impossible to sea the sea, and the path was made of large shingle – clearly not designed by any one who actually does long distance walking. 5 minutes in shingle n the beach is ok, but over a longer stretch it is painful and slow.

Hence, wherever there is an alternative, people have come off the main tack. At Steeart there was little to see except more reeds. I then turned inland. Strictly, although I was on the England Coast Path, I was walking beside the river Parrett.  The Steart Wildlife Conservation Trust has done a fine job of recreating salt marsh and mudflats. They breached the sea wall in 2014 and already the place is teeming (or teaming as they have on their signs!) with life. However, being the end of October, and chilly, there was little enough of it visible.IMG_2618

About half an hour north of Combwich, I met Vicki and the dog. He was having a whale of a time  even though he had to remain on the lead for much of the way. We walked back to the village for lunch, then carried on along the river path. It was pleasant, but uneventful. My companions turned back around half past two, the bright sunshine we had enjoyed for an hour after lunch having disappeared.IMG_2629

I carried on – two cow-filled fields were negotiated, but although they looked at me, and in one I took a stout post from the floor in case of incidents, nothing excited them, so they let me be. There was then a detour along the road for a mile or so, before turning back onto the river path which carries on into Bridgwater.

The town has a very interesting maritime history. It was a port from Roman times, and there were once big docks here. In the seventeenth century, it was the scene of several Civil War incidents, and a failed attempt to shoot Cromwell by Lady Wyndham, wife of the royalist colonel holding the town. She hit his aide instead.  Thirty or so years later, James, Duke of Monmouth, illegitimate son of Charles II, was proclaimed king in the town. The failure of his claim led to the battle of Sedgemoor and the Bloody Assizes.

The loss of the railway station under the Beeching cuts reduced the use of the docks, and further damage was done by the collapse of the canal wall in 2011. The town is now rather faded.

Got to hotel to find a young woman doing some very complicated organisation with the receptionist over several rooms. She mentioned doing a show later.  I pricked up my ears – a bit of stand up might be just the thing, but then she said it was burlesque. And thought maybe I might not like it. I replied that I did not think I was her target audience.  ‘Not at all’, she said, ‘our oldest audience member is 90!’ Hmmmm.

18 miles on the nose.  Today was a silver day – thanks to the company. Day rankings